


take a shot (but how's your aim?)

by LiveSincerely



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: ...eventually, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Jack Kelly, Hurt Davey Jacobs, Jack is bad at feelings, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oblivious Jack Kelly, fair warning: it gets worse before it gets better, no period-typical homophobia because i said so, the other Newsies are the Davey Jacobs Defense Squad™, the other newsies are all in this but i don't want to crowd their character tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26642377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveSincerely/pseuds/LiveSincerely
Summary: Racetrack again, low and soothing. “We just want ya to know we got your back.”Davey laughs. It’s not a happy sound. “That wasn’t having my back, Race, that was making me do all the work when I’m the one who shouldn’t have to!”Silence. Jack cranes his head even closer, ears straining to hear.“Davey,” Racetrack starts, and there’s a world of apology in his voice. “Davey you gotta know, if I’da known, if any of us had any clue, we never woulda—““I know, Race.” Davey says quietly. “I know, it’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. We were just... wrong, I guess.” There’s a sound like a sob, then Davey’s voice comes again, quivering and wet. “I just feel like such anidiot—““Oh, Davey.”
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly
Comments: 85
Kudos: 142





	1. A Shot in the Dark

For the life of him, Jack can’t figure out how the situation went south so quickly.

Tucked underneath his arm, Maggie pushes a bit of corn nervously around her plate and says, “So, how do you all know Jack?”

It’s her fourth attempt at starting a conversation, and it goes about as well as all the others have. The boys remain silent, throwing each other side-along looks or ducking their heads towards the table; Racetrack goes as far as to let out a dismissive snort.

Thoroughly fed up, Jack aims a kick under the table at Albert, who’s closest. Albert grits his teeth but he still doesn’t answer. Jack kicks him again, even harder.

“We’s all Newsies,” Al says shortly. “So we live together and we work together.”

Maggie latches onto this barren statement like a life line.

“And what’s being a Newsie like?” she asks eagerly. “It must be exciting, getting to roam the city, meeting different people everyday—“

“It ain’t exactly fun and games,” Racetrack scornfully interrupts. “It’s workin’ in the sun all day and gettin’ spat at and havin’ta fight for weeks justa get treated decent by folks who should know bett’r.”

“Oh,” Maggie says. “Of course. The strike.” She takes a breath and determinedly continues, “Yeah, it was incredible! The work you all did—you inspired so many people! How did you manage to keep going? It must of been really difficult—“

“I thought ya said ya worked at The World?” Racetrack says, cutting Maggie off again. “You must not be payin’ enough attention—it was front page news.”

“Race,” Jack says in warning.

“I’m just sayin’, it was right there in black and white.”

“Racetrack, _I swear to god—_ “

It’s Davey that saves the day. “So, Maggie,” he forcefully interjects, a smile plastered woodenly across his face. “Tell us a little more about yourself.”

Maggie blinks at the sudden friendliness after a half hour of painful silence and cutting remarks. Tentatively she answers, “I’m one of the type setters in the inking office. It’s a good position—they need girls with small fingers to adjust some of the fiddly bits on the different machines.”

Davey nods. “You must be good with your hands,” he offers. “Is that a knitting project, there in your bag?”

Maggie looks startled, then pleased at the change in topic. “Oh, yes! I’m working on a scarf for my Grandmother.”

“Ain’t it a little hot for a scarf?” Romeo comments loudly, to no one in particular.

“But I'm sure it’s never too early to get started,” Davey firmly redirects before things can turn sour. “You know, Buttons here is really into crafts and such.” Buttons glances up, clearly surprised at being thrown headlong into the conversation. “I’m sure he’d love to hear more about it.”

Buttons mutters something under his breath, too quiet for Jack to make out. Then it looks like Davey pinches him just under the armpit.

“...What kinda needles are you using?” Buttons reluctantly asks.

Maggie answers, her enthusiasm starting to grow as the conversation continues more or less smoothly, and Buttons' expression turns grudgingly interested.

Jack attempts to throw Davey a grateful smile but can’t quite catch his eye for some reason. He makes a mental note to do something nice for him, as a thanks for not being a complete ass like everyone else.

Speaking of everyone else, Jack uses the moment of calm to look around at the others.

It’s a sea of dissatisfaction: Albert’s wearing a sullen frown, Racetrack’s got his arms crossed over his chest, Specs is doing that thing where he keeps cleaning and re-cleaning his glasses, Crutchie keeps glancing at him like he’s _lost his damn mind_ — what the hell is wrong with everyone? Even Katherine seems to be in a bad mood, though she’s doing a slightly better job at hiding it, lips pursed and fingers drumming against the table’s edge.

Jack’s still trying to figure it all out when the sound of his name catches his attention.

“—I’ll have to see about making something for Jackie too,” Maggie is saying, and she tugs playfully at Jack’s collar. “Maybe some fingerless gloves, so he can wear them while he draws.”

“Aw, you don’t gotta go outta your way for me, Mags,” Jack says.

“It’s not going out of my way,” Maggie says. “I want to do something nice for my fella.”

She leans up and kisses him, a sweet little peck on the lips.

There’s a clatter and the screech of silverware scraping against ceramic. Jack pulls away just in time to watch Davey jump to his feet—it looks like he’s upended his plate all down his front.

“Excuse me,” Davey mumbles to the floor. “I just, I gotta—“ He makes a beeline towards the bathrooms.

Jack leans forward in his chair, his weight shifting to the balls of his feet. Racetrack shoots him a truly venomous look and Jack falls back into his seat before he’d really even begun to stand.

“I’ll go help him,” Racetrack declares, then darts up to follow Davey.

“Is everything alright?” Maggie asks uncertainly.

“I’m sure Racetrack’s got it handled,” Jack says, though he’s not too sure himself.

Without Davey to facilitate, the conversation stutters and stalls. Maggie hesitantly asks Katherine about her latest article; Katherine has the decency to answer her, though her expression is still incredibly pinched around the edges.

Jack lingers for a few minutes, knee bouncing the entire time. He says, “I’m gonna see about gettin’ another glass of water,” then stands up before anyone can stop him. He heads towards the front counter, glances behind him to see if anyone’s watching, then sneaks over to the bathroom.

He lifts a hand to knock, opens his mouth to say, “Are you doin’ alright in there?” but the sound of Racetrack’s voice makes him pause.

“—it’s gotta be hard on ya.”

“Of course it’s fucking hard,” Davey replies, and Jack’s shocked at the bitterness in his tone. “But you all aren’t making it any easier.”

Racetrack again, low and soothing. “We just wantcha to know we’s got your back.”

Davey laughs. It’s not a happy sound. “That wasn’t having my back, Race, that was making me do all the work when I’m the one who shouldn’t have to!”

Silence. Jack cranes his head even closer, ears straining to hear.

“Davey,” Racetrack starts, and there’s a world of apology in his voice. “Davey ya gotta know, if I’da known, if any of us had any clue, we never woulda—“

“I know, Race.” Davey says quietly. “I know, it’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. We were just... wrong, I guess.” There’s a sound like a sob, then Davey’s voice comes again, quivering and wet. “I just feel like such an _idiot_ —“

_"Oh,_ _Davey_.”

Jack’s pulse is pounding in his ears. He wants nothing more than to throw the bathroom door open and demand to know what’s wrong, demand to know who he needs to destroy on Davey’s behalf. His hand curls around the door handle, ready to kick the damn thing in if he has to—

But something causes him to hesitate.

His heart hurts as he listens to Davey sobbing on the other side of the door, torn between the instinctual need to comfort him and the growing guilt over eavesdropping on a private conversation. Davey won’t want to make a scene, and as much as Jack wants to, barging in will make a huge fucking scene.

His mind races: Did something happen while he was out? Is that why everyone’s so on edge? Did _Jack_ do something to hurt Davey, and that's why they’re all pissed at him?

Jack dismisses that last one. He can’t have done something—he hasn’t even _seen_ Davey since last night. 

He lingers for one more second, then forces himself to walk back to the table. He has to get through the rest of this disastrous lunch, then he can figure out what’s going on.

Racetrack returns just a bit after Jack does, Davey conspicuously absent. He leans down to mutter something in Finch’s ear as he passes him—Finch does a double-take, his expression incredulous. Racetrack shakes his head, insistent.

Jack tries to pretend like he’s not watching Race like a hawk, searching his face for any sign that he needs to take some kind of action. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a telephone chain of whispers and murmurs moving along the rest of the Newsies; Racetrack must’a told them to pass a message down the line. 

It’s gotta be something to do with Davey—the reason he’s so upset or the reason he hasn’t come out yet. It must be.

“Hey, how’s Davey doin’?” Jack asks when he can’t stand not knowing any longer, trying to sound casual.

“What are you, the pissin’ police?” Race mutters as he sits down, still looking mutinous. “He’ll be back when he’s back.”

“I’m just askin’,” Jack says carefully.

“And I’m just answering,” Racetrack shoots back. He meets Jack’s gaze and lifts an eyebrow—almost like he’s daring Jack to keep pursuing the question.

Jack can feel himself starting to lose control of his temper. He tries to remind himself that Race is just worried about Davey, that everyone’s defenses are up because Maggie, as nice as she is, is a stranger to them and not someone they feel comfortable dropping their guard around—especially when one of their own is hurting.

Don’t make it any less irritating though.

Eventually things start winding down. Plates are cleaned and glasses are emptied. Maggie gathers her things and stands, gracing the table with a nervous smile—she gets a series of nods and smiles in return, some more genuine than others, but everyone making an attempt.

Jack blows out a breath. Maybe there’s hope yet.

“Hey, Maggie... I’m real sorry about all this,” Jack says as he walks with Maggie towards the entrance, scrubbing a hand down the back of his neck. “I dunno what’s gotten into them—they ain’t usually like this, I swear. I think somethin’ must’a happened at the distribution center this morning and it’s got ‘em all twisted up in knots.”

Maggie shakes her head, her dark curls swinging around her shoulders. “It’s okay, Jack. Everyone has bad days, we just got unlucky that today was one. But I’m sure I’ll have more chances to get to know them better—some other time when tensions aren’t so high.”

“You’re a gem,” Jack says, relieved at her understanding.

“I try,” Maggie agrees. “Will you walk me back?”

Jack hesitates. He knows he should say yes—it’s the gentlemanly thing to do, especially after the shit show that just went down—but he really wants to check in with the others and _really_ needs to check on Davey.

Katherine comes to his rescue.

“Oh, are you heading back to the World?” she asks Maggie. “I’ll walk with you, I need to speak with my father about an event.”

She loops an arm through one of Maggie’s and pulls her along and out the door before Maggie can even begin to protest. 

Jack can barely make himself wait for the door to swing closed behind them before he’s jogging back to the table.

“Okay,” he announces, gazing sweeping over each one of his Newsies. “What the fuck is up with all’a youse?”

There are a few grunts and grumbles, but no one answers.

“Well?” Jack demands. “A whole hour of some’a the meanest remarks I’ve ever heard directed at anyone other than a DeLancey and now you all done lost ya damn tongues?”

“You can save the lecture,” Albert mutters, kicking at one of the table legs. “Davey already told us we was bein’ shitheads.”

“Yeah, I’ll fuckin’ say,” Jack says with a humorless snort. He glares at them for a few seconds longer, then his shoulders soften. “That’s what’s got ya all on edge, right? Somethin’s up with Davey?”

“Oh, sure, now he notices,” someone gripes, but Jack can’t tell who.

“Alright, someone spill,” Jack says. “What happened to Davey?”

More shared glances and sullen silence.

“You’re gonna have to ask him yourself, Jack,” Crutchie finally says. “It’s not our place to tell ya.”

“Fine then,” Jack says. “Where is he? Still in the bathroom?”

“He left,” Racetrack says. “He wasn’t feelin' good so he went home.”

“What’d ya mean he went home?” Jack asks. “I didn’t see him leave—what’d he do, climb out the bathroom window?”

It’s a throw away comment, but Racetrack’s expression flickers and Jack realizes that his guess must be closer to the truth than he thought.

Jack rubs at his face with a sigh. “Okay, I’ll go by his place and check on him. But seriously, you all need to chill out, yeah? Just ‘cause youse upset don’t mean you should take it out the next person ya see—Maggie ain’t done nothin’ to deserve how ya treated her.”

That gets a few strong reactions. Romeo’s nose scrunches up, Finch lets out an incredibly loud huff, and Albert’s whole face goes sour, but none of them argue out loud.

“You’re right, Jack,” Racetrack agrees, giving the others a significant look. There’s something strange about his tone. “Next time, we’ll be sure to put the blame where it’s due.”

“...Good,” Jack says, suddenly uneasy, though he can’t quite pinpoint why. “Make sure ya do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. This one is going to hurt a lot before it gets better.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Come hang out with me on tumblr! @LiveSincerely <3


	2. Scoping the Scene

The sun is hanging low in the sky when Jack hoists himself up the fire escape outside Davey’s building that evening, painting the horizon in shades of red and gold. He climbs up the stairs with an ease born from familiarity, his sellin’ bag bouncing against his hip with each step, and when he reaches the right window he crouches down, rapping his knuckles against the glass.

“Davey?” Jack calls. He waits a few seconds, then knocks again. “Hey, Dave, you in there?”

There’s no answer. Jack’s just starting to wonder if he should knock one last time or come back later when the curtains part. Davey blinks back at him, and even through the glass he looks pale and exhausted. 

The window staggers open, inch by painstaking inch.

“Hey, Davey,” Jack greets, frowning slightly as he takes in Davey’s red-rimmed eyes and rumpled clothes. “How’re you doin’?”

“Jack,” Davey says, his voice a little raspy. “What’re you doing here?”

“Whaddya think, Dave?” Jack says, leaning forward. “I came to check on ya. Here, move back so I can—”

Davey shakes his head: a quick, jerky sort of motion. “No, that’s— I’ll come out.”

“Uh, sure, okay.” Jack says, stepping back to give Davey space to swing a leg through the window and climb out onto the fire escape. 

There’s a long length of quiet where neither of them talk. Jack thinks that Davey’s waiting for him to say something but he can’t bring himself to start, too preoccupied with taking Davey in—as if he could find the cause of Davey’s pain if he just looks at him long enough.

Eventually Davey says, “What’re you staring at so hard, Jackie?”

“I’m tryin’ to figure out what happened today,” Jack says, “and why it’s got ya hurtin’ so bad.”

Davey’s shoulders stiffen. “What do you mean?”

“Dave, I’m not a idiot,” Jack says patiently. “You think I can’t tell that somethin’s wrong? I’m jus’ tryin’ to decide whose face I needta punch in for ‘causin’ it.”

Davey lets out a noise, but it’s more of an incredulous sigh than an honest laugh.

“I will!” Jack insists. “You jus’ point me in the right direction an’ I’ll take care of it.”

“I doubt that,” Davey mutters, clearly not intending for Jack to hear.

Jack straightens, a sudden thought occurring to him, a possibility that’s both more and less concerning. 

“Was it one of the guys?” Jack carefully asks. “Everyone seemed pretty on edge, like somethin’ real big happened. I get it if you don't wanna say—”

“No, Jackie, it’s not—” Davey takes a breath, then seems to sink in on himself a little. “There’s no one you need to soak, no one did anything to me, okay? I’m fine, it’s nothing.”

“You left in the middl’a lunch,” Jack points out. “An’ ya snuck out the back instead’a sayin’ goodbye. You expect me to believe that’s nothin’?”

He doesn’t want to mention the conversation he overheard—it wasn’t meant for his ears.

Davey lowers his eyes. “I don’t really want to talk about it,” he says.

“So there is somethin’ ta talk about?” Jack presses.

“I…” Davey hesitates, chewing anxiously on his lower lip. “I just really had my h— hopes set on something. But it’s not going to happen the way I thought it might.”

Even with the ambiguity, there’s a world of emotion in his words.

Jack racks his brain, tries to think of anything that Davey’s mentioned being excited about or any opportunities he’d said he had his sights on, but nothing comes to mind.

Feeling like a pretty shitty excuse for a friend, Jack says, “Did somethin’ happen with your school? I thought you were all set to go back in the fall?”

“Jack, it’s nothing,” Davey says. Everything about him—his posture, his expression, even the tone of his voice—screams that he’s hiding something. “Really, it’s fine, _I’m fine_.”

Jack considers him for a long moment. It only takes a second for Davey to start fidgeting under the weight of his gaze. 

“I don’t know why ya bother ta lie to me, Dave,” Jack says softly. “Ya gotta know you ain’t any good at it.”

“Maybe it’s because _I don’t want to talk about it_ and you’re not listening to me,” Davey snaps, his knuckles going white as his hands tighten around the railing. “I know you’re trying to help but I can’t talk about this with you, so I’m _asking you_ _,_ flat out, not to _push me on this.”_

Jack shifts back on his heels, more than a little stunned at Davey’s outburst. 

“Okay. Okay, I’m sorry, Dave, I swear I won’t push no more,” he says, hands raised in surrender. “But you’re talkin’ to someone, right? It don’t gotta be me, but you shouldn’t keep whatever’s upsettin’ you all bottled up.”

It’s hard for Jack to read Davey’s expression with him looking out into the distance the way he is, but he thinks he sees his mouth tighten, his throat clenching around a heavy swallow.

“Yeah, I’m working on it.” Davey murmurs. His voice thrums with something quiet and weary and terribly sad. “It’s just gonna take some time.”

The silence stretches between them, feeling impossibly vast. 

Jack casts out for a subject change and lands on, “So, what didja think of Maggie?”

Davey lets out a heavy exhale, his head hanging low between his shoulders. 

“She seems nice,” he says.

Jack waits for him to continue—Dave ain’t one to mince words, after all—but nothing else follows. 

“What, is that it?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“I only just met her today,” Davey says, a little curtly. “It’s not like we had much of a chance to talk with all the others being so… combative.”

Jack snorts. “Sure, that’s one way of putin’ it,” he says.

He steps forward and leans over the railing, standing so that his and Davey’s shoulders are just brushing as they watch the sunset. 

“I just don’t understand why they were all such asses today. I figured that somethin’ must’a set ‘em off, got ‘em all riled before we got there—” Jack casts a sideways glance at Davey but his expression doesn’t change. “—but I can’t get anyone to explain it to me.”

“I don’t think it was anything Maggie did,” Davey says quietly. “I think it would’ve happened regardless.”

“What, you think they were gonna hate anyone I brought ‘round to meet ‘em?” Jack asks.

Davey shrugs.

“They liked Katherine well enough when the two of us started dating,” Jack points out.

“Katherine got them on the front page of The New York Sun,” Davey counters. “Plus, they met her and got to know her before you started dating.”

“You think they’re mad ‘cause I waited so long to introduce her to them,” Jack realizes.

Davey seems hesitant to call the others out too strongly.

“I think they were surprised to have you show up to lunch with someone they’d never met, but who you’d apparently been dating for a month and a half,” he says carefully. “We all were.”

Jack winces. “Okay, yeah, I probably waited too long to introduce everyone to Maggie,” he concedes. “But that’s on me, not her. It’s fine for ‘em to be pissed at me, I’ll deal with it, but Maggie didn’t do a _damn thing_ wrong.”

“I know she didn’t,” Davey softly agrees, eyes fixed on the horizon

“They was way outta line,” Jack continues, and even just thinking about it is starting to make him angry all over again. “Totally outta line. I mean, ya woulda thought she’d spat in their faces the way they treated her today. And she was tryin’ so hard to be friendly… I just don’t get it.”

Jack turns, one hip pressed against the iron rails as he shakes his head. 

“And that’s not even countin’ whatever the fuck crawled up Racetrack’s ass and died,” he says. “I mean, I was expecting him to be a bit of a shithead ‘cause it _is_ Racer. I figured he’d give me some grief abou’ Maggie jus’ for the sake of givin’ it, an’ I’m probably due for a bit of payback after everythin’ I put him through when he started datin’ Spottie back in the spring. But, see, Spot’s a tough little bastard and we go back, him an’ me, so I know he can take a little tough love. But Maggie? He didn’t even give her a chance! It was like he was determined to hate her from the get go.”

“I’m sure he’ll warm up to her,” Davey says, and it’s not that he sounds uncertain, but there’s definitely something strange about the tone of his voice. “They all will.”

“Yeah, I hope so,” Jack says, blowing out a breath. “I guess I jus’ wasn’t expectin’ ‘em to need time to warm up to her, ya know? I really thought they’d like her.”

“You couldn’t’ve known,” Davey says with a sad sorta smile. “You couldn’t’ve known how… _they’d_ feel or how they’d react.” He scratches idly at a bit of rust, flicking it away into the wind. “Did you, uh, talk to them any? Afterwards, I mean?”

“A little, yeah,” Jack says. “Not that any of ‘em had all that much to say—they knew they were bein’ assholes for no fucking reason but didn’t wanna admit it. But, hey, Dave,” Jack continues, tone dropping into something more serious. “They told me 'bout how ya told ’em to lay off and chill out, even though you was goin’ through your own shit. You’re a real pal, David Jacobs. You know that right?”

“Jack,” Davey starts, shaking his head.

“No, seriously,” Jack persists, wrapping an arm around Davey’s shoulders and pulling him into a side-hug. “You’re my best friend and I 'preciate you steppin’ in an’ havin’ my back today. Things would’ve crashed and burned fo’real if you hadn’t’a been there. So thanks.”

Davey swallows.

“You’re welcome,” he whispers.

Jack squeezes his shoulder once more, then pulls away, reaching into his bag. 

“I brought ya somethin’,” he says. “It ain’t much, but you were so great at lunch and then I heard you were havin’ a rough time of it an’ I thought maybe you could use a little pick me up. So I got ya this, as a thank you present. Or a ‘cheer ya up’ present. Either works, I guess.”

Davey’s expression does something real complicated, then smoothes over before Jack can pinpoint any specific emotion there. “You didn’t have to do that, Jackie,” he says softly.

“I know I didn’t hafta,” Jack says. “I wanted to.”

He hands the gift over; Davey unties the twine and tears away the old pages of newspaper Jack’s used as makeshift wrapping, revealing a simple dime novel with a dark blue cover.

“It’s the next part'a that murder mystery series ya like,” Jack explains, scrubbing at his neck. “You was halfway through the other book when I saw it last, so I figured you must be about due for a new one.”

Davey doesn’t say anything, his long fingers trailing delicately along the book’s spine, then over the symbol embossed into the cover.

Suddenly nervous, Jack babbles, “That’s the right one, ain’t it? I coulda sworn ya said those were your favorites but if ya don’t like it—”

“No, Jackie, it’s great,” Davey says hoarsely, still staring down. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Jack says. “I glad ya like it. And, Davey—” Jack reaches out, curling a hand around Davey’s forearm. “—I know ya said ya don’t wanna talk abou’ it with me, but if ya change your mind and need’ta get whatever’s botherin’ ya off your chest, I’m here for ya.”

Davey’s expression falters, a hint of feeling peeking through the brave face he’s been putting on. Something goes tight in Jack’s chest when he spots the hurt swimming behind those usually bright eyes.

“Right,” Davey says, sounding strained. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You do that,” Jack says. “And lemme know if ya need anythin’. Anythin’ at all, get me?”

Davey’s gaze falls away, like shutters closing up to block out a storm.

“...Sure, Jackie,” he murmurs. “I get you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Come hang out with me on tumblr! @LiveSincerely <3


	3. Safety On, Safety Off

“How many papes do ya got left?” Jack asks as he wanders back over to the alley they've set up in front of, slipping the penny he’d just received into his coin pouch with the rest of the day’s earnings. “I can start hawkin’ whatever you’ve got left, that was my last one.”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Davey replies, shaking his head. “I’m already out.”

“Well, whaddya know?” Jack says, bumping Davey’s shoulder with his own. “I guess we’re gonna finish up early for once.”

“Yeah,” Davey murmurs. He doesn’t return or seem to even notice Jack’s smile, fiddling absently with one of the buttons on his vest. “I guess so.”

The rush of excitement that had started to swell in Jack’s chest at the thought of a work-free afternoon ebbs away as quickly as it arrived, his brow furrowing.

His gaze is drawn once again to the dark circles that have made a home beneath Davey’s eyes, the lines of tension etched around his mouth, forehead, and jaw. Jack shifts his weight from one foot to the other, trying to decide if he should keep pretending like he hasn’t noticed, if he should keep biting back the question that’s dancing on the top of his tongue or let it burst free like it’s been threatening to for days.

“Hey, Dave? You doin’ alright?” Jack eventually asks, unable to help himself. “You seem a little...”

At first Davey just blinks at him. Then he registers Jack’s question, the look on his face: he straightens up, expression smoothing over into something carefully contained. Jack's mood takes a nosedive.

“What do you mean?” he asks, and his tone is light but his eyes are sharp with warning. “I’m fine.”

Jack lets out a humorless snort.

“Oh, well, sure, if you say so,” he responds flatly.

Davey stiffens.

“Jack,” he says, mouth tightening unhappily. “We already agreed—“

“I know, I know, we ain’t gonna talk about it,” Jack says, annoyed and relieved and a little thrilled all at once at the spark of real emotion flashing in Davey’s eyes—the first he’s seen from him all day. “What, I can’t even ask if you’re okay without gettin’ my head bit off?”

“I told you, I’m fine,” Davey says shortly.

“Yeah, I know whatcha told me,” Jack says, crossing his arms over his chest. “I just can’t say that I’m all that convinced.”

“Jack,” Davey says, nostrils flaring. “Can we please not do this? I’m really not in the mood.”

“I’m not tryin’ to piss ya off, Dave,” Jack says, and he honestly isn’t, but he just can’t seem to leave the issue alone. “But I’m not gonna pretend like I’m not worried about’cha, or apologize for wantin’ to make sure you’re alright.”

“I _am_ alright,” Davey says. “I’m fine.”

“But you’ll tell me, won’t you?” Jack insists, holding his gaze, and Davey’s features soften slightly, something worn and vulnerable peeking out between the cracks in the façade. “If it turns out you ain’t?”

“I—“ Davey cuts himself off, biting his lip. “I— It’s— There’s nothing to tell,” he finishes, stubborn as ever. “I’m fine.”

Jack wants to reach out and shake him, wants to take him by the shoulders and pull him in, cradle him close to his chest—anything to get an honest, unguarded response out of him instead of whatever the hell _this_ is.

He doesn’t understand why Davey’s acting like this: why he’s so reluctant to share whatever’s obviously weighing on him, why he won't let Jack help him. Jack feels like he’s about to burst apart at the seams, frustration and discontent churning viciously in his gut.

Because the worst part of it all, Jack realizes suddenly, the part that’s driving him absolutely, impossibly insane, is that he knows, he _knows_ , that he could get Davey to tell him if he really tried. He could keep asking, ignore Davey’s excuses and start searching for the truth of the matter in his eyes—so clear and blue that he can’t hide anything behind them—and use that to hone in on whatever’s eating him up inside. He could go back on his word, pushing and pressing and prodding until he stumbles across the right question, and the this would all be over because once Jack knows what question to ask, he _knows_ he could make Davey answer him.

That’s all it would take.

It would be _so easy._

But he walks himself back from that ledge, forces the impulse down, because there’s something about the way Davey’s looking at him—eyes bright, chin lifted defiantly even as his lips tremble—that tells him that tearing the truth out of Davey before he’s ready is something they’d never be able to come back from.

Jack’s lost Davey’s trust before, shattered it with his own hands right when he’d least expected it.

He never wants Davey to look at him like that again.

So he takes a fortifying breath and makes himself let it go, even as his every instinct is screaming at him to figure this out and fix it.

“Okay,” Jack mutters to himself. He steps forward and catches Davey’s wrist in his palm, carefully tugging him closer. “I’m sorry, Davey, I’m not tryin’ ta make you uncomfortable or upset. I know I can come on kinda strong—“

“I’m not upset,” Davey says, but there’s a strange waiver in his voice, his gaze hovering somewhere around their joined hands.

“How ‘bout we try that again,” Jack says softly, “but with the truth, this time.”

Davey’s eyes dart up to his—startled, Jack thinks, maybe, at being called out—then flit away again. Jack waits for him to say something but there’s only silence.

“Work with me here, Dave,” Jack tries again, but this time it comes out as more of a plea. “You don’t gotta pretend like everythin’s blue skies and sunshine, I promise I’m not gonna get all up in your business if you dare to admit that you’re havin’ a rough go of it. Because I can tell, ya know? I can see it written all over your face, and we don’t hafta talk about it, really, I said I wouldn't push ya and I won't, but...”

Jack remembers the sound of Davey’s sobs, the wrung out, empty look in his eyes when he saw him afterwards, the smiles that have grown thinner and faker with every passing day, and his throat clenches, unbidden.

“I’m just really starting’ to worry about you,” he finishes.

Another pause. Davey’s not even attempting to meet Jack’s eyes anymore, his head ducked so low his chin nearly meets his chest.

With all his other options exhausted, Jack has nothing left but to voice the question he most dreads the answer to.

“Is it me?” he asks quietly.

It’s the only explanation he can come up with, the only thing that makes any kind of sense. Davey’s head whips up, tearing his arm from Jack’s hold as he flinches back a step, and Jack’s stomach sinks like a stone.

“It _is_ me,” Jack surmises with a jerky nod. He takes a step back as well, putting a good few feet between them. It feels like a mile

Davey’s face is pale, his eyes wide. His mouth parts but no words come.

“Davey, I—“

Jack stops himself, takes a breath, begins again.

“Alright, I understand. It’s— You must be— You don’t gotta— _I’ve got your back, Dave, okay?”_ he finally gets out. Because that’s the important thing, the most important thing, to make sure Davey understands. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t need to know. But I can’t stand to see you hurtin’ an’ tryin’ ta hide it from me, so whatever I can do, whatever you need to make this easier for you, just tell me. Just say the word and I’ve got it covered—“

“It’s not you,” Davey blurts out.

Jack hesitates.

“But you seem so... And the others, they sounded like they thought—“

“Okay, it is you,” Davey corrects. “But it’s not... it’s not what you think.”

Jack looks at him for a long moment. Davey’s gone taut as a bowstring, his arms wrapped tightly around himself—like it’s terribly difficult for him to put these thoughts into words.

“Hey, hey,” Jack soothes. “You don’t needta— Just tell me what you’re thinkin’, yeah? Just a little bit. ‘Cause I’m shootin’ blind here, Dave, and it ain’t doin’ either of us any favors.”

Davey pauses, swallows, then says, “I don’t know how to act around you anymore.”

Jack sucks in a sharp, involuntary breath, the words hitting like a sucker punch to the face. 

“No, I don’t mean— It’s not because of _you,”_ Davey rushes to explain. “Or, it is, but it’s not anything _you did,_ it’s just— I’m already messing this up.”

He scrubs a hand over his mouth, then starts over, this time with, “It’s just that, I’m actually really glad that you don’t know. Because it’s easier, sometimes, to pretend like everything’s fine. To pretend like I don’t have this horrible ache in my chest, that everything’s the same as it’s always been. And I know that isn’t fair to you, I know I’m doing a shit job at holding it together and it’s probably freaking you out, but I don’t know what else to do except try to be okay because I _need_ things to be okay between us.”

He holds himself even tighter, shoulders hunched up around his ears. 

“It’s just… a lot to deal with. And I’m really trying, Jackie, I am, but I’ve never— It’s hard,” Davey quietly admits, “to figure out what to do with myself. And then there’s the fact that everyone else knows, which is just—” Davey rakes a hand through his hair, disbelief and resignation painting broad strokes across his face. “—great and awful all at once because at least I don’t have to explain it to them, they just get it, but also they _all fucking know,_ Jackie, they _all know,_ and god, I wish they didn’t, I wish none of them had the _slightest idea,_ especially now that you— you’re— that you—”

Davey abandons the sentence entirely, instead going with, “And I know it’s a lot to ask of you, keeping you in the dark, but I can’t talk about this with you, Jackie, I can’t ruin this last thing by telling you, _I just can’t—”_

Jack steps forward and wraps his arms around him, drawing him into a fierce hug. 

“You’re okay,” Jack murmurs. He feels Davey’s hands curl gingerly around his back, tiny shudders quivering up his spine, and Jack cups his palm around the nape of his neck, holding him close. “It’s all okay, Dave.”

“I’m sorry, Jackie.”

“You don’t hafta be sorry,” Jack says firmly. “I know you’re doin’ your best—”

“No, I am sorry,” Davey insists, leaning back to look at Jack fully. He’s a little wrung out, but there’s a new hint of lightness in his eyes—like he’s finally, finally, gotten some things off his chest. “You’re just trying to look out for me and I’m treating you like shit, can’t even bring myself to explain what the hell’s going on and— and I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that, Jackie.”

“Well, if you’re sorry, I’m sorry too,” Jack says, matching Davey’s tone, rubbing his hands along Davey’s upper arms in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. “‘Cause I’m the one that started it, I’m the one that can’t keep my damn mouth shut, even when you ask me to—”

“Right, because it’s such a crime to worry about your friends,” Davey interjects, rolling his eyes. “How do you manage to live with yourself?”

This startles a bark of laughter out of Jack, and some of the pressure that’s been building inside him these past few days eases up. They’re gonna be okay.

“Oh, I dunno,” Jack says, a hint of a smile pulling at his mouth. “There’s this one guy I know, tells me I can be kinda overbearing.”

“Well, maybe a little bit,” Davey says, watching him with soft eyes, “but only because you care.”

“Yeah, well…” Jack trails off with a shrug. “I’m glad I’ve got him around to call me out when I need him to. God know I need it. But, Davey,” Jack leans in, serious. “No more of this fake-happy bullshit, yeah? You don’t gotta pretend like you ain’t sad or upset or angry or— or however it is you’re feelin’, not from me. ‘Cause I ain’t buyin’ the act.”

“Jack—”

"I don’t hafta know anything except what you feel like tellin’ me,” Jack doggedly continues, needing Davey to hear this. “Nothing’s gonna change between you and me. But I needta know that you’re okay, and I can’t do that if you’re shuttin’ me out.”

“I…” Davey sighs. “Alright, Jackie, I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask,” Jack agrees, and he reels him back in for another hug, holding him until the tension in Davey’s frame slips away, until he feels the warm puff of Davey’s breath tickling his neck as he relaxes into the embrace.

They’re gonna be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Narrator Voice: Things are not going to be okay.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Come hang out with me on tumblr! @LiveSincerely <3


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